


Forget-me-not

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-02
Updated: 2007-02-02
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: You once told me that you loved transparent metaphor.





	Forget-me-not

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

There you were, tucked away in the corner. Forget-me-not.

There you were, hidden away, invisible next to the Scilla and the periwinkle; nothing compared to the violet. Forget-me-not.

There you were: nothing, nothing at all. The others laughing, smiling, waving – grabbing attention with every glint. But you laughed your own laugh, smiled your own smile. And your cry, drowned under the force of the others, was plaintive and quaint. Forget-me-not.

There you were, palest of pale, pallid and pointless. A tiny sprig of nothing, a tiny whisper of past glories. Every other blue was rich, or vibrant, or showy – and yet you were so dull – a dirty cyan, nothing to be proud of. And yet pride has never been one of your attributes: self-respect, perhaps, but never pride. You were always quiet, tucked away, but always, always, always there. The pale amongst the gaudy. Forget-me-not.

There you were, softly spoken azure, that quiet, understated cerulean. Even your leaves, long and rounded, softened and sweet, drooped slightly, sweetly, candy. Everything about you was sweet, self-sacrificing and even. Small but perfectly formed – the phrase was made for you. Perfect, a silent partner, but never invisible: little-big. Forget-me-not.

There you were, polite. The rude hyacinth and offensive rosemary tore one’s heart, but you - you stitched it back together. If you were a person you’d be a little old lady, long skirts and birdlike-features, nesting, nest-egg. You’d wear black a lot, with those azure eyes, little sapphires in a forest of browns and greens, jewels amongst the grass. You’d sing, you’d sing a lot, I’m sure. And you’d have a whole forest of bird-pets; they’d sing to you, throaty and delicate, they’d sing stardust and fill all the air with rainbows. And small and bird-like though you are, they’d be drawn to your song. Forget-me-never. Forget-me-not.

There you were, secretive. Someone could tell you things and know, always know that you’d never tell. You smiled, a soft, painful-painless smile, and we poured out our secrets into the bosom of the blue. A single told secret hurts more than a thousand kept and you never hurt – you healed: healer-carer, secret-keeper, wound-kisser. Salt and sugar, sugar and spice, spice of my life. Hiding, sweet and innocent, count to ten and come and find me, sweet innocence, blue and azure innocence, the little secrets of the tiny. Tiny leaves and tiny petals, tiny stem and tiny secret, a thousand whispers rolling over your bud and sinking into the ground – a secret buried and covered over with soft, moist earth. Cold. Secretive. Forget-me-not.

There you were, perfect. Form and function, the juxtaposition of curve and angle, round and back, up and down, soft and light. You were perfect, blue against the dark. But that was you all over, wasn’t it? Always glowing into the night, always the brightest glow from the smallest lamp. A single voice is louder than a crowd – that was always you. Standing up for truth and glowing into the night. There you were. Forget-me-not.

You once told me that you loved transparent metaphor.

Forget-me-never. 

Forget-me-not.

_If any of this makes little sense, please tell me in a review and I shall explain. I didn't want to ruin it with explanation. I guess this is just me experiamenting a little. ConCrit rocks. Angelxx_   


 


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